


Origin of the Species

by cathybites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-21
Updated: 2011-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 11:09:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathybites/pseuds/cathybites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Origin of the Species

**Author's Note:**

> written for [](http://nymeria.livejournal.com/profile)[**nymeria**](http://nymeria.livejournal.com/) in the [](http://spn-holidays.livejournal.com/profile)[**spn_holidays**](http://spn-holidays.livejournal.com/) exchange. one of the prompts asked for Dean or Sam falling for his brother, and when I thought about how that might happen...well. this is what came to mind. much love to [](http://darlita.livejournal.com/profile)[**darlita**](http://darlita.livejournal.com/) , [](http://glockgal.livejournal.com/profile)[**glockgal**](http://glockgal.livejournal.com/) , and [](http://bossymarmalade.livejournal.com/profile)[**bossymarmalade**](http://bossymarmalade.livejournal.com/) for looking over this at its various stages.

This is how it begins:

Rain tap-tap-tapping steadily against a streaked windowpane; leaves twirling and whirling as they fly by on the wind. Hands and face press to the glass, smooth and cool against sleep-warmed skin, eyes bright and watching as the car pulls into the driveway. Dean bounces to his feet, runs to the front door as it opens, mom and dad both sopping wet and tumbling in, laughter ringing out like the silver wind chimes hanging off the front porch. They both smile a mile wide as his dad picks him up, spins him around and holds him close. "You been good for Mrs. Reed?" he asks, and Dean nods, presses forward to rub his nose against his dad's. "That's my boy."

Soft warm hand on his cheek and he turns as his mom presses her lips to his forehead. "Hi, baby," she says, all golden and glowing, and he notices she's carrying something in her arms, a bundle all wrapped up in fuzzy blue.

"Present for me?" he asks, and his parents laugh again, his dad squeezing him tight as his mom turns to show him. Dean doesn't see anything at first; then a fold of the blanket is pushed to the side and Dean's eyes widen.

"Say hi to your big brother, Sammy," his mom says to the baby, and the wrinkled little face in the middle of all that blue crinkles before wide eyes open, dark and unfocused. Dean leans in, anchored in his father's arms, and breathes in deep; the scent of fresh powder and new life curls into his lungs. The baby's - Sammy's - eyes flicker and shift towards him, tiny pink mouth opening wide in a yawn, and it hits Dean like a sun-warmed wave: this is his little brother. His _brother_.

His.

\---

This is how it begins:

Sammy's nursery is glowing, bright and golden in the darkness, and Dean creeps quietly down the hall to see why. Someone is screaming, someone is crying, and when he reaches the door, the heat nearly knocks him to the floor. Smoke curls in the air and flames lick the walls, dancing across the ceiling, and Dean's eyes follow them, up up up--

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don't look back! Now Dean, go!"

Sammy pressed into his arms and there's no time to ask, no time for questions. Dad gives the order and Dean turns and runs. He clings to Sammy, holds him close and safe, and runs runs runs, down the hallway, down the stairs, down to the front door. The fear doesn't hit him until he's right there, trying to reach the doorknob without dropping Sammy. He shifts Sammy, holds him tight against his chest with one arm even as Sammy starts to cry. _can't drop him_ , he thinks, _can't drop can't let him go don't let him go_ , and the door opens and he runs out, heart pounding, clinging Sammy tightly.

\---

This is how it begins:

Curled up together on a creaky bed, wind howling in fury against the thin motel walls. Sam's head is tucked under Dean's chin, body shivering. Three blankets, a sleeping bag, heater going full-blast, and Sam still shakes. Two hours since the phantom had grabbed him, and all Dean can do is rub his hands down Sam's back, press as close as possible to let Sam know that he's there, that he's got him.

The words aren't spoken but they're in every pass of his hands, every squeeze of his fingers into tight muscle. He breathes them into the soft ringlets that fall over Sam's eyes, into the skin still damp with fear. Sam shivers again, and presses in closer to Dean.

They stay like that for an eternity, until Sam's breathing steadies, until the shaking stops. His body loses the tension that had gripped it most of the night. He slides even closer, legs slotting in between Dean's until there's nothing between them other than threadbare cotton and the pounding of their hearts.

One of Sam's hands reaches up, slow and hesitant before the fingertips graze over the bump of Dean's collarbone, then slide up his throat, across his jaw to press against his lips. Dean's mouth falls open; he wants to ask Sam what's going on, tell him to quit it, but Sam tilts his face up, eyes wide and dark and asking Dean for everything, and Dean falls right in, mouth molding against Sam's, fitting together like they always have.

\---

This is how it begins:

Sam leaves on a bright Saturday morning, duffel bag packed with everything he owns. Dad is off somewhere - shooting things, drinking, raging against the world - Dean's not sure, doesn't know if he cares.

"I think that's everything," Sam says, voice as grey and quiet as Dean feels. He thinks, _not everything_ , but his mouth twists shut on the words, and he nods curtly.

"Let's go," and he somehow makes it out the front door and into the Impala, nails digging into the steering wheel. The passenger door opens and Sam pauses for just a moment before he slides in, right up next to him, fitting against Dean like he always has, like he always will.

A hand curls around the back of Dean's neck and Sam's forehead presses against his shoulder as he breathes out one word: "Dean." One syllable, so thick with layer after layer of meaning that Dean almost chokes on it. He shakes Sam's hand off; if they don't leave this second, if he hesitates for just a moment, Dean is never going to let him go. Get it over quick, like ripping off a bandage.

It's not until later, hours after watching the Greyhound bus pull out of the station, Sam's face and hands pressed to the glass, that Dean lets himself feel the burn, the red-hot glow left behind by Sam's leaving.

\---

This is how it begins:

The scene is familiar, one that he's never forgotten, one he'd never thought he would have to relive. The golden glow seeps from the windows into the black of the night, the panic and fear crawls through his veins - he's frozen for just a moment before he kicks the door open, calling for Sam.

Someone is screaming, someone is crying, and Dean can't tell who it is, if it's real or something he's remembering. He rushes to the bedroom. The flames dance across the ceiling and the smoke curls in the air, and Sam is on the ground, staring at Jess's body. Dean grabs him, hauls him out the door, and all he can think is _god sam sammy i'm sorry so sorry i got you_.

Later, after everything, after the sirens die down and the questions stop, Sam curls up on the motel bed, and Dean sits in the chair across from him, watching. Neither of them say a word, but as the sun starts to come up, light streaming in under the curtains, Sam reaches out and says, "Dean."

\---

This is how it begins:

Crunch of gravel under his boots and the rattle of the fence in front of him. Metal bites into the fleshy pads of his fingers, cold and sharp; Sam bites into the soft skin hidden behind his ear, hot and desperate.

 _sam sam don't go never let go sammysammysammy_ runs through his mind, but when he opens his mouth, the words melt away, leaving nothing but the strangled sounds that fall from his lips. Sam's head tilts up, neck craning forward to catch them on his tongue, blazing a streak from the corner of Dean's mouth to his ear.

"Yes", Sam breathes, his voice a golden whisper that threads into the core of Dean, winds its way into the dark places inside his head, pulsing in time with the beat of Dean's heart. Dean shivers at the brush of heated fingertips skimming down his side, drumming against the slats of his ribs, tap-tap-tapping as they travel across the sharp edges of his hipbones and dig into the skin there.

Sam is everywhere, reaching in and touching and filling everything, like he's always done, like Dean hopes he always will. He shifts back, spreads his legs, feels the glowing heat of Sam pressing into him. It's too much, it's not enough, it's exactly what Dean has always needed, him and Sam and nothing between them. Not the anger, not the lies, not the ghosts that have been chasing them all their lives.

His head falls back, neck curving into place against Sam's shoulder as Sam pulls him closer, fitting together as they always have.

\---

This is how it begins.


End file.
